Quarterback on the Move
Author's Note: All individuals engaging in sexual activities must be at least 18 years old.
Disclosures: This text has been modified by me, using Microsoft's spell-check. You've been warned; anticipate finding errors.
Beau Armstrong walked out of his American History 310 class, a wide smile crossed his attractive face. He knew he would get an easy 'A' on the mid-term exam because they were facing Bargen University on Saturday.
The Walchester Wolves were still hurting from the Bargen Bandits' humiliating defeat the previous year and relied on Armstrong's strong arm to guide the team to victory. No teacher would dare give Beau a failing grade.
"Hey, Armstrong," Terrence Knudsen said, patting the 21-year-old quarterback on the shoulder.
"Nude," Beau agreed.
"What's it called when you have two women and you in bed?" Terrence questioned.
"A regular Saturday night," Beau shrugged.
He chuckled as a bookish-looking coed giggled and gave him a blushing smile. Terrence shook his head, grinning.
"Uh huh. It's called a threesome. And, when you have just you and one girl in bed?" Terrence continued.
"Unusual?" Beau suggested. "We're waiting on her roommate?"
"A twosome. So, with you and two women, it's a threesome, and with you and one woman, it's called a twosome," Terrence explained as they stepped outside Bowman Hall into a wonderful early autumn day. "Now, do you understand why they call you handsome?"
With a shake of his dark curly hair, Beau laughed heartily. He slapped Terrence on the shoulder as they descended the concrete steps to the sidewalk.
"Hey, Armstrong," someone called out.
"Yeah?" Beau looked over at Conrad Putman, a skinny little geek that had tutored him in Algebra 101 the previous year.
For taking the time to tutor him, Beau had given the geek the name "Connie." The more Connie protested, the more Beau delighted in mocking the frail young man with the hated nickname.
"You remember Pam? My girlfriend?" Connie now snapped at Beau. "Pam Young?"
Beau remembered Pam Young vividly. She was a cute girl, although she wouldn't be so cute if she lost her thick glasses, did something with her drab brown hair, and lost ten to fifteen pounds.
The book report she'd done for him on Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter had earned Beau both an 'A' in Professor Davidson's class and praise from her, Helen Davidson, for his astute interpretation of literature.
And Pam herself had given Beau Armstrong the greatest blowjob of his life. Her tongue had been magical as she sucked on his two testicles for a while before trying to stuff his 8 inches into her tight little pussy. Because he'd already filled her throat with his load and fucked her surprisingly hairy bush, he took a while to fill her intestines with his sperm. After ejaculating into her womb, he cleaned his slimy cock with her hair and thanked her for the report and the pussy.
"Yeah? What about her?" Beau asked, smirking at Connie. "Does she want some more?"
Connie didn't say anything; instead, he pulled a 9 millimeter from his trousers and pointed the gun at Beau. Beau heard a woman shriek as he blocked Connie—like any offensive lineman would be proud of—and heard the loud click of a gunshot.
"You were supposed to turn around and run," a deep voice warned.
"What?" Beau asked, dazed by the bright light all around him.
"You were supposed to run when you saw that gun," the voice reproached.
"So, am I dead?" Beau inquired, looking around in the bright light.
"Yes. The one time you were supposed to act the way you usually do, you decided to be Superman and take on a 9 millimeter bullet," the voice continued.
"Damn. So, what happened with Bargen? Did we win?" Beau asked dejectedly.
"With a coach like Duane Percy? You're kidding, right?" the voice scoffed.
"So, what happens now?" Beau inquired, still trying to locate the voice.
"Well, as I said, you weren't supposed to be here. You were supposed to turn tail and run. Terrence was supposed to die." the voice clarified.
"Oh," Beau said.
"Now, the question is what should be done with you," the voice continued. "You're not supposed to be here for another twelve years. And your sister would've been charged with negligence, you would've been 102 pounds, your body ridden with bacteria from lack of hygiene. A colon infection would've been how you left the world. Do you see the irony? The one who loved tormenting young women's colons, dying with one in his own?"
"Darlene? Darlene wouldn't...she loves me," Beau said defensively.
"So here's your options, Beau Joseph Armstrong," the voice said. "Go to your just desserts and before you ask, you know full well where you're headed. How many warnings did your Gran used to give you about where your egocentric life was leading you?"
"I repent!" Beau cried out. "I call upon the name of-"
"Oh for mercy's sake! They all want to repent when faced with their verdict. The time for that was BEFORE, not AFTER. So, go to your just desserts, or return and-"
"I want to return! And I'll make sure Darlene doesn't-" Beau rapidly said.
"You're not coming back as Beau Joseph Armstrong," the voice chuckled cynically.
"Then, who?" Beau questioned.
"Irwin Gunther Adburge Junior, 18 years old, 5 foot 8 inches tall, weighing approximately 172 pounds. Coke bottle eyeglasses, starting to develop a hairline receding. Ring a bell?" the voice said.
"No, not quite," Beau said, struggling to picture his new persona.
"Sure you do, Beau. Irwin. IRWIN? Fat, little geek; the type you enjoyed tormenting. The type of kid you tortured until they broke. Until you annihilated their hopes." the voice said angrily.
"I repent!" Beau cried out once more.
"Shut up!" the voice snapped. "It's a bit late for that, don't you think?"
Irwin Gunther Adburge Junior stumbled over an unseen barricade. Surveying about, he didn't recognize the scenery. The backpack on his back was exceptionally heavy, too cumbersome for him to carry at an easy pace.
"Sissy up, fairy," Irwin mocked himself and went on his way.
Seemingly, he was supposed to go to Stooker High School, the imposing red brick building right in front of him. He saw other students moving towards the building and continued along, trudging forward slowly.
"Stooker? As in- oh my God! Stooker? My hometown? Home of Bargen? That Stooker," Irwin revealed with disgust.
"Irwin!" a tall, muscular young man jeered Irwin as he entered the school building.
"What? You don't know how to wash that shit off Daddy's dick yourself?" Irwin retorted, waving his hand to ease the stench of the young man's breath.
"What DID you just say?" Ryan Porter yelled, shoving Irwin forcefully.
"Dick sucks makes you deaf," Irwin said, managing to right himself.
"Dude, what the hell did YOU just say?" Ryan asked aggressively.
"Boxes, you just don't have the sense to brush your teeth after cleaning your shit off Dad's wangled penal member?" Irwin mocked, waving his hand before his face to push away the foul smell emanating from Ryan's mouth.
"Mr. Porter, is there a problem here?" a tall man called out.
"No sir, Mr. Feldman," Ryan answered curtly, still glaring at Irwin with hatred.
"Good, good. I'd hate to see either of you get a detention on your first day of senior year," the assistant principal said. "Mr. Adburge, go to your homeroom."
"Uh, where is my homeroom?" Irwin asked, unaware of the locations of his classes.
"Down the hall, Mr. Adburge. We've not moved Room One Fifteen since last quarter," Mr. Feldman stated dispassionately.
Finding his classroom, Irwin blundered. He sat in Beau Armstrong's usual spot. Already, a group of larger boys and a gang of attractive girls were gathered at the back of the room. Irwin nodded greetings as the talk gradually subsided.
"Uh, Adburge, um...what was that, um...gosh," a young man said, scowling at the intruder.
"Really!" a remarkably pretty blonde chirped, her nose pinched in disapproval.
"My seat, bitch," Ryan snarled, seething in anger at Irwin. [[citation needed]]]
"Nah, nah, I think the seat with that huge dildo on it is yours, right?" Irwin exclaimed.
"What's with the country accent, Adburge?" another student questioned.
Instead of trying to explain his bizarre memory loss, Irwin stood up and carried his heavy backpack to another seat. Once he was comfortable, he retrieved a sheet of paper showing his class schedule from his pack. Irwin was happy to see he had P.E. for his last class period, which meant he could go straight from the gym to the football field after school.
"Two sixteen Calculus? I'm clueless about that," Irwin muttered to himself.
"Advanced biology? What in the world? Am I in the brains club here?" Irwin continued, scrutinizing his schedule more closely. "Hang on...what's happening here? A little assistance, please?"
There was no response, but Irwin hadn't really anticipated one. A plump woman with a charming appearance entered the classroom right as the first bell rang. Looking at her voluptuous behind, Irwin imagined bending the pretty lady over her desk, spitting on her little asshole and ramming his fat dick into her wiggling ass.
"God, didn't you leave me with a huge cock, right? Please let me have my cock," Irwin thought, horrorstruck at the prospect of living with this deformed body and a small penis.
"Here," he blurted out when the attractive woman called for Irwin Adburge for the third time as she locked eyes with him.
Shaking her head, Ms. Thompson continued to mark attendance. She shared some announcements, like football tryouts being on Thursday and the time to discuss college with Ms. Adams being now, not in April or May. There was still time to join Mr. Buckman's band class...
"You're doomed, Ass burger," Ryan snarled as he stormed past Irwin's desk.
Irwin's foot quickly shot out and Ryan crashed hard to the ground. Some people gasped, others chuckled, but most just gawked as Irwin nonchalantly got up and followed the steady stream of students exiting the room.
"Dude!" a tiny boy gaped at Irwin.
"Dude," Irwin nodded, searching for the staircase.
"He's going to kill you, Dude," the little guy said.
"Maybe. Or, maybe he'll realize, mess with the bull, get the horns," Irwin replied.
"Dude, what's with the Blake Shelton voice?" the small kid asked as he followed Irwin.
"Whatever," Irwin responded, deciding to push himself.
Irwin sprinted up the stairs like a man possessed. It was clear that Irwin Adburge Junior was not physically fit; he was winded by the time he reached the second floor. He made it to his next class and collapsed into a seat.
When 'Adburge, Irwin' was called, he responded. Then, as the teacher began explaining Nathaniel Hawthorne's works, Irwin was startled to find answers popping into his head. He dutifully took notes in his notebook. Apparently, his parents couldn't afford to buy him a laptop.
"So, we might analyze Hester's predicament..." Irwin contributed.
"Predicament? When the hell have I ever used that word?" Irwin inquired.
"...to compare it to the modern 'Cancel Culture' trend infecting our social media?" Irwin finished.
"Infect? Wait, do I even know what that word means?" Irwin wondered.
He surprised himself during his World History class as well. How did he know about Alexander the Great's social engineering and its influence on Western Civilization? He knew Beau's attitude was "these people are dead; who cares?"
At lunch, he discovered a pack of plastic tokens in his shirt pocket. Irwin selected a nutritious meal, choosing one protein and three vegetables along with one fruit, as opposed to a tray filled with carbohydrates and at least one of the desserts available. Randy, his shadow, followed him from their Calculus class to the cafeteria.
"That's quite the drawback of being in the Advance program; all our classes are on the second floor," Randy commiserated.
Irwin spat, "You can go now. You're dismissed." He started eating his lunch.
"Watch out, she might beat you up," warned another girl.
"Her boyfriend? Where is he? If I had any of you as a girlfriend, I'd sit next to you, not mess around with my buddies," Irwin remarked mockingly. "So, I'm not worried about her boyfriend or yours or yours."
Everyone at the table stared in amazement at the bold Irwin G. Adburge. He finished his lunch, got up, and walked away.
"You're done for, man," Randy exclaimed when Irwin left the cafeteria.
"You only die once, but you can die within yourself if you let people push you around, man," Irwin replied.
After school ended, Irwin checked his wallet to find his address. He had his Stooker High School ID, telling him he lived at 1121 Trenton Lane. Since he'd regained consciousness while walking to school, Irwin decided 1121 Trenton Lane, Stooker, Pennsylvania was nearby.
"Let's pick up the pace," Irwin said and began to run, laden with his backpack.
Trenton Lane took him some time to find. Finding 1121 Trenton Lane also required some trial and error. Looking at the decrepit exterior, Irwin realized they couldn't afford a laptop computer.
The house was made of wood like many in the neighborhood. 1121 Trenton Lane too needed a thorough cleaning, sanding, and painting. The grass was a mixture of dying grass, crabgrass, and healthy-looking dandelions and other weeds.
"More hugs, Sweetie," a woman greeted him as he used his keys to enter the home.
"More hugs to you, attractive lady," Irwin greeted, noticing how the worn jeans clung to her curvy hips.
"Irwin!" his mother exclaimed in surprise. "I'm your mom, for crying out loud!"
"Oh. Okay, Hiya Ugly," Irwin teased.
"Boy, I'll tell you," she smirked. "How was school, son? The first day is always a hard day, isn't it?"
"School was fine. A bit dull, but fine," Irwin nonchalantly replied.
His room was about the size of Beau's closet. It contained a small bed, a large dresser, and a small one.
"Where do I do my homework?" Irwin asked when he stepped into the kitchen.
"Same place you always do," his mom answered.
She glanced at him suspiciously when he chose a seat.
"What?" Irwin inquired as he opened his Calculus textbook.
"Nothing. Nothing," his mom responded. "You can move when Natalie comes. And, what's with the Willie Nelson charade?"
"Willie Nelson who?" Irwin asked, writing down the answer to problem two.
"Willie Nelson," his mom answered with a fake twangy voice.
The door slapped open. A second later, an emaciated young woman appeared. Unlike their mother, Natalie Adburge was on the verge of anorexia. After greeting their mother, the thin brunette glared at her younger brother with pure hatred.
"Move aside, turd," Natalie snarled.
"Buzz off, skinny pin," Irwin replied, closing his Computer Literacy workbook. "Do you need this seat right now? No? Then get lost and find a crevice to hide in."
"Irwin, we don't use that language in this house," their mom gasped in shock.
"Mom, I apologize for my language," Irwin said. "But you, skull and bones...your seat doesn't need me right now. I need it; it has the best lighting. So, scoot away and eat something."
When Irwin Sr. returned home, his disgust was palpable. He was disgusted with his obese wife, malfunctioning daughter, and undisciplined son. He regretted his own existence and saw no future for himself. Irwin Adburge, Sr. imagined the same bleak future overtaking him.
"Hey, can I try out for the football team this year?" Irwin inquired of his family as they ate an unhealthy meal.
"Ha! And while you're at it, try out for President of the United States!" his father sneered.
"Now, Irwin, you know you might get hurt if you play football," his mother advised.
"Haha! Wait 'til Jeremy hears this!" Natalie laughed viciously.
"Show of hands: Who here cares what Jeremy thinks?" Irwin asked his sister sarcastically.
Following his dinner, Irwin headed to his bedroom to do a workout. A door slamming and voices notified him of visitors. In a matter of moments, a gaunt man in his mid to late twenties barged into Irwin's room, sporting a disgusting sneer on his face.
"Hey, faggot, did you hear you're planning to go out for football?" Jeremy taunted.
"Hey, cock sucker, did you hear you're going out for prison bitch?" Irwin said. "Get out of my room; I didn't give you permission to enter."
"What? Bitch, pay attention," Jeremy snarled, snatching at Irwin's shirt.
The first punch sent Jeremy stumbling back. The second punch bloodied Jeremy's already damaged nose. The third punch had Jeremy doubled over, coughing dryly. Irwin threw the gasping man out of his room and shut the door.
Natalie was next to enter Irwin's room, shrieking about Irwin's impending demise. Irwin calmly grasped a handful of the scrawny woman's hair and dragged her out of his room, leaving her with scrapes and scratches.
"Listen, Miss Future Bride of the Year, if you're going to enter my room without permission, keep your sperm donor out of it. I've been patient and tolerant of you and your entitled attitude. I don't even know how you think you deserve anything better than disdain. Just stay out of my room, leave me alone, and we'll get along fine," Irwin said, forcing Natalie into the living room where Jeremy glowered angrily at Irwin.
Judith knocked on the door before entering Irwin's room, but Irwin tuned her out as she droned on about his behavior.
"I know what 'blather' means?" Irwin asked himself.
"Son, son, alright, I hear your complaints and they're valid," Judith said. "But, the unemployed NEET barges into my son's room, trying to belittle him? So, I'm supposed to just sit here and take it? But when he attacked my son, his civility vanished."
"He attacked?" Judith asked, clearly displeased.
"After referring to me as a fag," Irwin confirmed. "Then, Natalie barges in my room; do I not have the right to privacy?"
"He called you..." Judith asked, exasperated.
"Yes, my dear Judith, the horrible human being branded me with a homophobic slur. Then, Natalie intrudes on my personal space; how can I be expected to just let it slide?"
"He called you..." Judith repeated, even less pleased.
"You know, Mom, do we have a lawnmower?" Irwin asked. "I'd like to cut the grass after football practice on Thursday because I'll be sweaty anyway."
"It's in the shed," Judith answered, pointing with her chipped, ragged fingernail toward the backyard. "But, don't change the subject."
Wednesday was a carbon copy of Tuesday. Irwin confronted his tormentors, showing no consideration for the school's social hierarchy. He also acquired a second companion, Trevor Kuzan. Similar to Randy, Trevor was short for his age. He was also the victim of acne and an unpleasant body odor.
Coach McDaniels watched with noticeable bafflement as Irwin Gunther Adburge attempted to join the football tryouts on Thursday afternoon. Standing at five foot eight, Irwin was significantly smaller than many of the other participants. However, unlike the others milling about, Adburge was already stretching and loosening up.
"Uh, Adburger, uh, do you honestly believe you have a chance here?" Coach McDaniels questioned.
"Most certainly, Coach McDaniels," Irwin responded. "I want to be the starting quarterback."
Several students laughed. Irwin smirked with self-confidence. Someone threw a football at Irwin's head and, surprisingly, he grabbed it in a single swoop with his left hand. Turning to whom had attempted to hit him with the football, Irwin chucked it at Ryan Porter, the perpetrator. Ryan struggled to catch the ball, still astonished at Irwin's execution.
"I've studied last year's playbook," Irwin told Coach McDaniels. "Call out any play, and I'll perform it. However, please eliminate Sixteen R Out and Twenty-Five Play Option, as they're excessively labor-intensive."
"The majority of the players were shaking their heads negatively. Previously, Sammy Schneider, their first-choice quarterback, and his backup Ryan both enjoyed the play. They valued the play because it provided both of them with a chance to grab the ball and run. As Irwin accurately mentioned, the play was slow to develop.
"Coach McDaniels called out, 'Okay, so, Ad burger and Putter, are you both trying out for QB? Anybody else?'
Three more students came forward. Irwin smiled when the coach threw two footballs and pointed to the wall. There were four squares painted on the wall: red, yellow, blue, and green. The coach would yell out a color, and both prospective quarterbacks would throw at the same time, hoping to strike the matching-colored square from 50 yards away.
"Blue!" the coach commanded.
"Wait, who was that?" the coach inquired when one ball missed the square and the other ball hit it, producing a loud 'clang.'
"Uh, I mean, Ad burger," Charlie, a junior and a potential QB candidate, said. "Ryan threw his ball a fraction of a second before Ad burger threw his."
"So, I got my pass off faster," Ryan defended, flustered.
"Ryan, yellow," the coach instructed. "Ad Burger, Red. After I sound the whistle."
The whistle was blown, and both boys heaved the balls. Since Ryan was attempting to be quicker and stronger, he hit the blue square next to the yellow square. Irwin successfully hit the red square. Since it was across his body, the ball did not produce as much 'clang' sound when it hit the wall.
Irwin's arm was sore by the time the first round of tryouts finished. He was regarded as the man to beat, and therefore he took almost every snap.
When he got home, Irwin almost skipped cutting the lawn. It was scorching hot, his arm was fatigued, and his head ached from everything being crammed into his brain.
"Cranium. How can I know that word?" Irwin asked himself as he turned the dial of the worn combination lock on the leaning, dilapidated tool shed's warped door.
When he was done, the lawn didn't look significantly better. It merely had fewer weeds. However, the patches of dying and dead grass were more noticeable, along with the clumps of crabgrass. Irwin grimaced and cleaned everything before locking it in the shed.
"You, Irwin, you actually tried out for football?" his mother inquired when he entered the home through the mud room.
"Yes, ma'am," he replied, heading for the shower.
"But Irwin, Sweetie, you could get hurt," his mother stated.
"I could trip in the shower and get hurt," Irwin countered.
Friday was an intense day for Ryan. His hostility was at a high temperature. A slightly plump girl with long black hair rushed into the classroom as Ms. Thompson was taking attendance.
"Wow, you made it just in time," Ms. Thompson said to the young lady.
"Who's that?" Irwin inquired of Randy, nodding toward the newcomer.
"Ah, you don't know her folks? That's Booger," Randy said.
"Booger? Why is she called..." Irwin questioned.
"In third grade, she was seen eating her boogers," Trevor Kuzan answered.
"She doesn't still do that, does she?" Irwin asked, shuddering.
"No, but you know how it is; you get a nickname and you're stuck with it for life," Randy commented.
Irwin didn't find out until World History that the petite girl with the long black hair was actually named Angela Black. He smiled at her, and she blushed and hid her face in her hair.
During lunch, Irwin spotted Angela sitting alone and strolled over to join her. She reluctantly looked up as Irwin and his two loyal followers approached her table.
"Hey Angela, may we join you?" Irwin inquired, grinning.
"I, uh...yeah, I guess, no, I don't mind," Angela stammered.
To her disbelief and dismay, Irwin sat down beside her. He initiated a conversation with Trevor, but ensured that Angela was involved in the discussion. The first time he brushed his hand casually against her thigh, Angela froze. By the end of the lunch hour, she was reciprocating his touches, chatting and laughing delightedly.
When he asked for her phone number, Angela scribbled it down and Irwin pledged he would call that evening following supper. With his companions trailing him in shock, Irwin left the cafeteria. As he departed, he flashed a smile at Angela Black that caused her to blush profusely."
During a light practice session that afternoon, several football prospects who had returned experienced a severe case of the drops. Each reception from Irwin was either too high or too low. Handoffs were mishandled. Defenders mistook touch football for a brutal tackle, sending Irwin crashing into the ground.
Ryan emerged as the star of the exercise. Receivers were eager to high-jump for his high throws or pull back for his too-short passes. Receivers were even prepared to drift over 3-4 feet when he missed the mark.
"Okay, okay. Looks like you cute fellas can actually catch the ball, even when the quarterback is uncertain about his target," Coach McDaniels finally yelled out. "What was that? You remember it’s touch football when you have your buddy quarterbacking, right? One more dropped pass? Another fumble? One more tackle? You know what? Stay at home. You're not making my squad if you keep that up. Got it?"
"Yes, Coach."
"I said, 'got it'! This team isn't Putter's; it's mine. You don't play for Putter; you play for me." The coach yelled even louder.
"Yes, Coach!" the players echoed, with more volume.
"Alright, Ad Burger. Let's try it again. Thirty-two-go route," Coach McDaniels said, tossing the ball to Irwin.
This time, the balls were caught. This time, the handoffs were picked up. Defensive players didn't try to toss Irwin to the ground.
Once dinner was over, Irwin filled his bathtub with hot water and a generous supply of Epsom salts. He settled into the tub, then dialed Angela using his cheap cell phone. They talked for nearly two hours about useless topics before making concrete plans to go to Sloane's Pizzeria on Vermont Drive. Angela promised to humiliate Irwin brutally, in the most embarrassing manner possible.
"Whatever, I don't care," Irwin chuckled.
When he arrived at Angela's house, he entered a building that was the physical embodiment of his own house: a wooden structure with a neglected garden. Angela greeted him, dressed in Daisy Duke shorts, a tight top devoid of a bra. She informed him that her mother was gone and wouldn't be back until Sunday; she was out gambling at the Atlantic City casinos.
"So, would you like to just order a pizza and..." Angela said before dragging him inside.
Her shirt came off in seconds, exposing her 38D breasts with silver dollar-sized areolas and taut nipples. Her hugs were frantic. She kissed Irwin and moaned as he pleasured her heavy mammary glands. After managing to take her seemingly too snug Daisy Duke shorts off, her prominent pubic mound was revealed, with just a few strands of her jet-black hair concealing her. Her inner lips were fat and moist.
Her scent was intoxicating, and her taste was entrancing. Her clitoris was as large as Irwin's thumb and responded enthusiastically to his licking and sucking. Irwin employed all the moves he'd learned from Beau Joseph Armstrong while he stayed kneeling between her broad-spread legs. After her orgasms rolled in like a tidal wave, Angela trapped Irwin between her large thighs, preventing him from moving. He licked and sucked her to three more orgasms before unzipping his best black jeans and freeing his fat five and a half inches.
"I, I'm a virgin," Angela breathed, her dark eyes glinting as she covered her crotch.
Irwin talked Angela through the complexities of oral sex. He kept one hand on her head as he released a load into her throat. The look of disgust on her face was funny. After donning her glasses again, she wrinkled her nose.
Angela approved of sixty-nine, but when she realized that sixty-nine implied she'd have to ingest his semen, she groaned in dismay.
"Anything else we can do?" she moaned listlessly from the velvety velour couch.
"Anal?" Irwin asked hopefully. "I mean, damn! That ass, that ass is perfection. Perfectly plump."
"It's too fat," Angela stated, but her tone suggested she was pleased with his flattery.
In the bathroom, Angela located a jar of petroleum jelly. In her bedroom, which displayed a striking absence of any items that would indicate the room belonged to a girl, they lay on Angela's twin-sized bed. After kissing and playing with her chunky breasts, Irwin instructed Angela to assume a position on her hands and knees.
Her posterior was pale, two large mounds of flesh separated by a deep crease. While gazing at her rounded backside and the crevice it made, Irwin was struck by his appreciation for plump, curvaceous ladies.
"Mmm, yep, thick girls are sexy," he mused as he scooped some petroleum jelly.
"That, that feels different," Angela whined, as Irwin pushed a greasy finger into her tight bottom.
"Yeah, me too. I mean..." Irwin said as he carefully inserted his finger into her tightly clenched rosebud.
Ugh, I, oh, oh," Angela moaned as Irwin turned his finger in a tight circle before gently taking it out of her ass.
Irwin placed some more petroleum jelly on his index finger and middle finger and slowly inserted them into her resisting rectum.
"Hmm, I have a thing for anal," Irwin thought to himself. "I guess Beau enjoyed it too."
"What's this for?" Angela questioned, her voice tense as Irwin included his ring finger in the lubrication process.
In response, Irwin flicked his thumb against her clitoris. Angela screamed and then shook, wetting Irwin's stomach and crotch area with her release. Irwin laughed happily at this.
Again, Irwin scooped some jelly onto his fingers, but this time he coated his cock instead. Then, he wiped the extra jelly on his behind before grabbing her left butt cheek and directing his cock to her dark pink glistening anus.
"Ugh, ugh, AUGH, that, AUGH!" Angela exclaimed loudly as the blunt head of Irwin's penis pushed insistently against her tightly clenching anus.
Yet, she still didn't tell him to stop. Irwin continued to exert pressure, pushing hard into her resisting bottom hole.
AAUUGGHH! Oh God, God, oh AUGH!" Angela yelled as the head of Irwin's penis pushed into her fighting rectum.
And still, she didn't tell him to stop. When Irwin removed his left butt cheek and reached around her to fondle her clitoris, Angela once more screamed and Irwin felt his groin and upper thighs become damp with a spray from her orgasm. When his hairy groin area rested against her tight ring of flesh, Irwin paused to catch his breath.
The heat and tightness were incredible. Her anus muscles clenched and pulsed, almost strangling his penis inside her digestive system. It felt as if he'd thrust his penis into a vise grip and tightened it even more.
"Oh, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," Angela groaned as Irwin began to retract from her trembling rectum.
Irwin hauled her plump breasts in his hands. He found her erect nipples, pinching and twisting them. Angela emitted a scream and shoved herself back onto him, impaling herself on his penis.
"I, mmm, I, oh God, I, I think, I think I like anal," Angela grunted out as they both began to knock their flesh together in a rhythmic cadence.
"I, yes, yes, I'm relieved," Irwin gasped before voicing his pain. "God yes!" Irwin howled as he ejaculated deep into her bowels.
He collapsed onto her back, drawing both of them down onto the bed. They lay exhausted on the bed, Angela supporting his entire body weight while they tried to regain their breath.
"I'm famished. Are you?" Angela inquired. Irwin slowly pushed himself up.
"Yup, yes, yup, I'm ravenous," Irwin declared, pulling his lubricated penis from her red anus.
Despite his intimidations about how she had to dress, Angela put on clothing modestly before answering the door when the extra-large meatball from the Sloanes arrived. With a kiss and a giggle, she told Irwin that only he'd see her naked.
"Nude? No, just wearing those shorts," Irwin smiled.
"My mom's been pressuring me to discard these," Angela acknowledged as she pulled Irwin into her bedroom again.
After they'd devoured the pizza, Angela had Irwin grease his penis once more. Then, she squatted over him, her left hand holding her buttock while her right hand guided him into her lubricated anus. She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming as she kissed him passionately.
"I, this, this is, I'm so glad you're my boyfriend," Angela confessed right before their lips met.
It was long past Irwin's curfew when they parted. He wasn't sure what his punishment would be, but he knew it was worth it. However, his father merely gave him a tired stare when he entered the living room. His father did not respond to Irwin's cheerful 'good night' as he trudged down the hallway.
Sunday, Irwin had to endure attending the local Lutheran church with his parents, sister, and Jeremy. After a dry and uneventful service, he had to endure a family dinner, Jeremy attending as well. Irwin couldn't recall what faith Beau Joseph Armstrong had belonged to, but he anticipated it was not Lutheran.
Though he was forbidden from visiting Angela's home after church, Irwin and Angela chatted over the phone. At ten minutes before four that evening, Irwin remembered he had a massive amount of homework, and Angela hastily claimed she'd forgotten all about hers.
One Monday morning as Irwin made his way into school, he was confronted by Ryan and two of his buddies, Tommy 'Ravioli' Rivoli and Kurt Hartwell. They pounced on him, with Ryan pushing him brutally, making Irwin stumble. Tommy added to the joke by showing him off balance. It was a double disaster for Irwin, as his large backpack only fueled the fun for the three bullies.
Beau Joseph Armstrong would've been brown belt in Tae Kwon Do if he wanted it. However, like most of his other pursuits, he abandoned the journey because he found instant gratification more attractive.
"C'mon you guys!" Irwin complained as Ryan continued to push him ruthlessly.
Suddenly, his glasses were yanked off, leaving him in darkness. And on top of that, the weight of his backpack was adding to his struggle.
Kurt was about to shove Irwin forward when he felt the agony of a broken bone. Irwin, in a last-ditch effort, had stepped on Kurt's foot, leaving him in immense pain.
Remembering a move from his Tae Kwon Do classes, Irwin flicked his right fist ahead, connecting with Ryan's chest hard. He intended to punch right through the boy's body, but Ryan was knocked out instead. Meanwhile, Kurt hopped and yelled in pain, his foot broken.
Irwin turned towards Tommy next but, surprise! Tommy fled down the corridor, leaving the game.
"At least there's a silver lining," Irwin discussed his mom about his newly procured latest frames. "Good thing about this ordeal is that the school's footing the bill for my new specs."
"Mm-hmm...," Judith nodded with her expression tightened.
Later that day, all the football players were gathered at the gymnasium as Coach McDaniels motioned Randy Straughter to turn on the large screen television monitor.
"Early this morning," Coach began, flinging an easy arm over Randy's shoulder. "Before the first bell chimed..."
Irwin noticed Ryan, Tommy, and Kurt standing against the wall, waiting. Suddenly, he saw them cornering him as he entered the school corridor.
"It's three against one," Coach McDaniels stressed, his arm freeing from the smaller boy's shoulders and pointing at the screen.
